Keldren held out his hands and, with a pop of displaced air, an open book appeared in them. The wizard ran his finger down a page, muttering to himself. Looking up, he fixed Kelos with an intense stare.
“Why was Emuel emasculated?”
“To preserve the pitch of his prepubescent voice. An adult human voice is normally unable to achieve the range required for elven song magic.”
“Ingenious. Cruel, but ingenious. And what can you tell me about his tattoos and scarifications? Why did somebody go to all the trouble of so marking his flesh?”
“Elven runics,” Kelos said. “A way of opening Emuel up to the magic of song.”
“Interesting. But not all of these are elven runics. This one here — the symbol that looks a bit like a crescent moon on its side, entangled in vines? — well, that is dwarven. A profanity, an insult in runes. Nothing more than crude graffiti.”
“I understand the Final Faith based their designs on ancient elf spells.”
“Yes, well, they were wrong then, weren’t they? But not entirely. See these? These are actually elven runes, but they’re like none I’ve seen before. At first I thought that they might be based on an earlier form of script. But, from the text here” — he indicated the book — “I’m now certain that’s not the case. The runes are elvish, but a form of the language not from our past. Therefore…”
Kelos looked blankly at Keldren for a moment, before he realised what the wizard was getting at.
“From your future? Magical canticles that have yet to be developed?”
“Exactly!” Keldren said, triumphantly. “There is magic here that no elf mage has yet wielded. Emuel is a repository of future magical knowledge. I will be able to extrapolate from the runics upon this one young boy to produce song magic of a power that none on the peninsula have yet witnessed. Such an advantage could have vast implications for the mages in our military. What you have gifted to us here, Kelos, is a potential weapon in the war with the dwarves.”
“Emuel is no weapon, Keldren. And I didn’t gift him to you, any more than I gifted you Silus. If you don’t remember, we were taken against our will.”
Keldren closed the book and placed it beside Emuel. “May I remind you, Kelos, that as a gesture of goodwill I have given you certain freedoms? This is in recognition of our bond as mages. Do not abuse my hospitality; you can be given over to the camps like that!” Keldren snapped his fingers.
Kelos opened his mouth, but could think of nothing to say. He considered reaching for the threads, weaving a spell with which to attack Keldren, but he realised that any magical duel would likely end in his own death. This was, after all, Keldren Dremos Enthrold, the finest Old Race mage of his generation and a legend amongst those who studied the art of sorcery. He supposed it was true what they said: you should never meet your heroes.
“I’m sorry, Keldren. Please, proceed.”
“See, dear boy? I knew that my trust had not been not misplaced. Now, let’s see if we can get our newest acquisition to sing, shall we?”
Later, Kelos was allowed to bring Emuel some food and water. Keldren had thoughtlessly left the eunuch bound to the table, and when the mage freed him, he was barely able to stand. Keldren hadn’t so much coaxed the boy to sing as torn the songs from him.
Kelos held a stone jug to Emuel’s lips, and he drank thirstily.
“Why are you doing this, Kelos? Why are you helping that man?” he said, after he had quenched his thirst
“Because if I don’t, things would be so much worse for you and Silus. Emuel, I’m doing what I can. I’ve been trying to work on Keldren, but it’s taking time.”
“If I have to endure this for much longer, I will die.”
Emuel was right. There was only so far he and Silus could be pushed. And once Keldren had concluded his experiments, what then? Kelos wondered at what cost the wizard’s sorcerous knowledge had been brought. Were all the great works that he so admired — that had formed the foundation of Kelos’s life in magic — so steeped in the blood of others? It sickened him to kowtow to a man of such lax morals and disregard for others, yet it was the only way he would get the measure of him. The wizard seemed to know the ultimate fate of his race: their destruction in an apocalypse that would wipe all but the smallest traces of their civilisation from the map. What if he could offer Keldren the means to survive? If Kelos could appeal to the vanity and hunger for knowledge that so obviously drove the wizard, would he abandon his own kind?
Kelos had to hope so, as it was the only option open to them. He and his companions might be the only humans in existence who knew of the true nature of Kerberos, and the threat they all faced from Hel’ss. If he couldn’t win Keldren round, then their future was decided with the end of all things.
“Either way, Emuel,” Kelos said. “I can promise that it will all be over soon.”
Keldren had set a fire going, the coals banked so high that they threatened to spill onto the hearth and ignite the rug. The heat from the flames offered little comfort, instead intensifying the humidity in the poky little study and making Kelos break into a sweat. Keldren, however, appeared perfectly at ease, even swathed as he was in his velvets and linens, all wrapped about by an ebon cloak. What was it about magic, Kelos wondered, that attracted people with such ostentatious tastes?
“This is all for nothing, you know,” Kelos said, sitting opposite the wizard and fanning himself with a pamphlet on the uses of mountain herbs in divination.
“Sorry?” Keldren said, glancing up from his reading.
“All this,” Kelos said. “All your knowledge will prove to be for naught. In the end the elves will fall along with the dwarves.”
Keldren looked back to the book in his hands and didn’t say anything. He lifted the wine glass from the table beside him and drank, and carefully placed the glass back down again.
“You know the truth of this, don’t you, Keldren? Just as you have calculated the coming of Hel’ss to my own time, you have calculated the destruction that will come to the Old Races.”
“The Old Races? Hah! Is that what you call us? Rather an ignominious phrase to describe the two mightiest empires Twilight will ever see, don’t you think?”
“You are avoiding the subject.”
Again, Keldren’s eyes went back to the book in his hands.
“Keldren!”
“Yes, Kelos. I understand what you are saying. But these, these survive,” Keldren said, gesturing with the book. “My studies will go on to form the foundation of modern magical thinking.”
“But what if I told you you could witness for yourself how important your works become? Just think, you could know the true significance of your legacy to magic. What other master of the sorcerous arts could ever hope to claim such knowledge?”
“Oh, Kelos, bless you. You’re talking in mere fantasies. I must admit that I feared I had pushed you too hard. Besides, I am already fully aware of the significance of my studies. I am, after all, the finest magical thinker of my time. You said so yourself.”
“No, you don’t understand. I said the finest magical thinker of my time. It will be thousands of years before the true significance of your works will be appreciated.”
“But… but the work I am doing here is of vital importance to the elven empire.”
“Really, Keldren? Then why have they buried you so far beneath the city, within these rotten tunnels where your library is constantly at threat from mould and insect infestation? When did the king last directly call on your services?”
“I… I…” Keldren was getting to his feet and it seemed, finally, that the warmth of the room was affecting him, for sweat now beaded his brow. “I am Keldren Dremos Enthrold!” he shouted, throwing his cloak back like some second-rate stage magician.
Kelos waited for a moment before he spoke, allowing the wizard to fully appreciate the impassive expression on his face.
“You will be entirely forgotten by your own generation. Your name will mean nothing until two hundred years before my time, when this, your library, will be discovered far beneath the waters of Freiport bay, still protected by the magical wards that you set in place. It will be the greatest discovery of elven magical texts in the history of the
